But because it's Oscar time, it seemed appropriate to remind folks that mystique was the essence of stardom at one time: that alluring quality of effortless aloofness and unstudied mystery that defined the divas and leading men of old. Think Greta Garbo, Cary Grant, Kim Novak and so on. However contrived or calculated the creation of their personas, something authentic arguably shone through and contributed to their popularity and their enduring boxoffice appeal. Today, who's got it? Ever fewer, though Clint Eastwood in my book is still a shoo-in.

The trick is not easy to pull off. Stars have to contend with an increasingly pushy promotional machinery as well as the tell-all tabloid culture that has been dumped on (or demanded by?) the public, pretty much reducing mystique to the waste bin of history.

So what do we have now? Countless celebs checking into rehab facilities, driving under the influence, punching out paparazzi, commoditizing their babies or cooling their high heels in the caboose. And not just Britney, Lindsay and Paris.

One PR veteran put it to me this way: "Like decorum, (mystique) is a virtue or a gift that no one seems to care much about and that not many folks know how to cultivate -- or make pay off for themselves."

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Whatever their foibles, those people were mostly adults, in gracious command of themselves and their lives. Gary Cooper didn't need publicists; neither did Greer Garson or Humphrey Bogart. George Clooney is about the only adult in the business now.